Tactical Liabilities

We had to rein Briar in hard when it came to planning her birthday party - like, military-grade rein her in. The kid had gone full dictator mode, pacing the living room with a stick and confidently declaring she'd be inviting "everyone from Alexandria, Hilltop, and Oceanside" to the bash.

Absolutely not.

Not only did we not have the space - or the food, or the mental stamina - but the idea of corralling that many adults and excited children would be more like a horror story, not a celebration.

She took the rejection with all the grace of a dramatic soap opera heroine, flopping face-first onto the couch and groaning, "But it's my birthday. It's supposed to be legendary!"

Legendary. Where did she even learn that word?

Then there was the wine thing. She still wasn't letting it go. It was wild how obsessed she was with the story she'd heard Carl tell Judith. I was starting to worry that she wasn't just finding the story funny, but maybe clinging to it like some beacon of fun in a world that wasn't exactly built for childhood. Like maybe she wanted to see us act like fools because life still felt too tense.

And - perhaps irrationally - that made me paranoid we hadn't done a good enough job of protecting her and Sawyer. That they were absorbing more fear than we realized.

I brought it up to Daryl one night while we were lying in bed. He had one arm slung over his face, the other around my waist, and he shifted just enough to look at me with one eye squinting.

"Kid jus' wants to see grown-ups actin' stupid," he'd said, voice gravelled and sleepy. "Hell, Ath - if I hadn't been there first-hand to see ya backflippin' off a damn pew buzzed on wine, I'd be askin' for a re-enactment too."

I let out a reluctant snort. "You sure it's not deeper than that? That she's not-"

He cut me off with a sleepy grunt and pulled me closer until my face was pressed against his chest.

"Ya've protected those kids from everythin' without makin' 'em soft. They ain't scared, they're smart. Couldn't ask for a better mom."

I smiled against his skin. "They couldn't ask for a better dad, either."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "We love 'em. We'd do anythin' to keep 'em safe. S'a lot more than some kids get."

I kissed the curve of his neck, heart aching just a little at knowing what his upbringing was like. "Yeah... it is."

He held me close for a moment before his voice came again.

"She still ain't havin' wine."

But, in true Briar Dixon fashion, she took matters into her own hands.

Two days before the party, Eric knocked on our door looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. He held up two bottles of red wine like they were rare artifacts.

"Briar said you needed this," he explained, barely containing a grin. "Apparently, she asked all the kids at school to find out if their parents had any stashed."

Daryl stood behind me, arms crossed and shaking his head in disbelief. "Lil hustler."

"God help us when she hits her teens," I muttered, taking the wine with a snort. "Thanks, Eric. Are you sure?"

"Yep. Tell her I'm expecting the best slice of cake at the party in return," he said before heading off. "Or at least the second best."

It wasn't much, but it was enough for the adults to have a small glass each. And Briar would get her so-called legendary wine party.

Weird, weird kid.

In the end, we had to explain to Briar that we needed to keep the celebration small. The rest of Alexandria would carry on as usual - guard duty, patrols, supply runs. They'd keep the gears turning and the fences secure - holding the weight, so me, Daryl and our found family could set ours down, just for a little while.

We wanted it to be a day for our people- the ones who had fought beside us all these years, bled beside us, built something out of the ashes with nothing but grit and grief and stubborn hope. The ones who had every reason to be too tired, too traumatized, or too broken to care about a little girl's birthday party... but who we knew would show up anyway.

Carl and Agatha had helped the kids paint a crooked "HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY BRIAR!!!" banner, which ended up covered in lopsided handprints. Judith and Gracie shredded old pillowcases to make streamers, which Sawyer quickly got tangled in like a decorative ghost.

Despite the chill in the air, Briar had insisted the party be outside. It made more sense than trying to cram everyone into our little two-bedroomed house anyway, so we layered up and did just that.

Daryl hung old Christmas lights around our fence, powered by a car battery Eugene had jury-rigged them to.

"They'll last exactly four hours," Eugene explained proudly. "Then the yard becomes a tactical liability."

"Yur a tactical liability," Daryl muttered.

"They should put that on a t-shirt," I added. "I'd wear it."

By early afternoon, our backyard looked like a cross between a kindergarten picnic, a flea market in Narnia, and a fever dream painted by someone hopped up on expired cough syrup.

Aaron had somehow unearthed a massive canvas tent - where from, I didn't dare ask - and strung it up like a royal pavilion in one corner of the yard. The thing looked like it had once hosted a circus, or possibly a revolutionary war reenactment, and it instantly became the kids' base of operations for espionage, pretend-camping, and dramatic monologues.

Scavenged lawn chairs, overturned crates, old quilts, and some kind of broken hammock provided seating for the adults.

Thanks to Magna's group holding the fort, Maggie, Glenn, and Hershel came in from Hilltop, along with Jesus, Tara, Enid, Alden, and Ezekiel - who looked a little awkward around Carol at first, but the pair handled it with the stiff politeness of two people who didn't want to cause a scene.

Beth surprised everyone by showing up from Oceanside with Cyndie in tow - and then surprised us again when she casually dropped the bomb over potato salad that they were in fact an item.

Cue: Rosita dropping a spoon, Carol choking on an apple, and Merle muttering, "Huh. Didn't see that comin'."

But it was all met with joy - real, goofy, wide-smiled joy. And not just at seeing Beth happy with her new beau, but us being altogether once again - those of us that were still here, still surviving.

The food table was... creative. Apocalypse buffet-style. There was squirrel stew (a Dixon family classic apparently), fried canned potatoes courtesy of Alden, pickled carrots from Hilltop's cellar stock, and Carl's noble attempt at cupcakes, which appeared to be made from protein powder, jam, and what I sincerely hoped was flour.

You think they're safe?" Maggie whispered to me when Hershel went back for seconds.

"They haven't exploded yet," I replied, taking a sip of whatever mystery punch Eugene had concocted for the kids. "That's a win."

And then there was the wine.

Those two precious bottles, sitting like royalty on the counter. When Briar spotted them, her face lit up like she'd just found the Holy Grail.

"It's for them, not me," she explained to the other kids, hands on her hips with all the dignity of a six-year-old drunk on birthday power. "Grown-ups drink wine at parties. It's a thing."

The other kids nodded solemnly, like this was sacred knowledge passed down through generations.

The party was chaos in the best possible way.

Sawyer managed to get caked in mud within ten minutes, despite the fact that there hadn't been rain in days. Judith and RJ turned into guerrilla pranksters, crouching behind the firewood pile with slingshots made from sticks. Gracie and Briar tried to teach Hershel to do cartwheels. They were very encouraging even though his version looked more like a confused donkey collapsing in slow motion.

Then came a pinecone treasure hunt that Lydia had kindly organized for the kids. She opted not to come to the party - though Daryl had made an effort to make sure she knew she was invited - but wanted to contribute anyway.

The hunt was going surprisingly well until RJ got disqualified for trying to eat one.

"I thought it was a nut!" he cried, pine sap smeared across his cheek like war paint.

DJ - the only baby in attendance - somehow ended up sitting in a colander on top of the food table like a very serene, carrot-smeared Buddha. Merle didn't even flinch when he saw him. Just muttered, "Least he's not bitin' nobody," and kept drinking his stew straight from the ladle.

Then Judith suggested pin-the-tail-on-the-walker.

Enid helped her duct tape a disturbing walker drawing onto the side of our shed. Gabriel politely declined to play, citing spiritual discomfort. Tara, however, was all in.

Merle challenged her immediately, announcing that "a Dixon never misses."

Spoiler: a Dixon absolutely missed. Then Tara accidentally pinned the tail on Siddiq's shoulder. Tara blamed Merle's "bad vibes," and Michonne laughed so hard she had to sit down or risk peeing herself.

Later, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the yard, the fire pit roared to life, with Daryl tending it like some leather-clad fire god.

By then, the grown-ups had officially started passing the wine. Tiny cups, little pours. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to warm us. Enough to get the laughter rolling just a little louder, the hugs a little longer.

The lights Eugene rigged from a car battery flickered to life - twinkling like stars strung through the fence.

"Exactly four hours," Eugene reminded everyone. "After that, we descend into tactical darkness and probable ankle injuries."

Briar sat on her self-declared throne of pillows, wearing a crooked crown Gracie made her out of tin foil and feathers. Sawyer ran circles around her in his superhero cape, Hershel challenged Aaron to an arm-wrestling match and almost won through sheer confidence, and Gracie managed to start a conga line that went exactly three steps before DJ projectile-vomited carrots down the front of Ezekiel's coat.

"Consider this my resignation," Ezekiel said with great dignity, peeling the coat off like he was shedding royal robes.

When Beth couldn't resist anymore, she pulled out a weathered old guitar from its case - one she'd patched and restrung herself - and perched on the edge of a crate like she was born to be there. She strummed a few chords, murmured something about "dusting off the cobwebs," and then treated us all to a set of old country songs - melodies soft and sweet, weaving through the smoke of the fire and the gentle laughter of our people.

It took me right back.

Back to that first night we arrived at the prison, before we'd even pushed our way inside. We'd slept on the grass inside the fences, still not knowing if it was safe, if it was ours to keep. Beth had sung, her voice carrying under the stars, laced with hope and sorrow and something fragile that hadn't yet been lost.

That night was the first time Daryl ever called me Ath... The first time he slept beside me - not super near, but closer than ever before.

I hadn't thought about it in so long, but the music brought it all back - how cold the grass had been, how I'd spent half of the night awake, staring at him, in awe of how peaceful he looked as he slept. It was the beginning of something. We hadn't known it then, not really, but it was. And now here we were, years later, the same voice filling the air, but everything else had changed.

I glanced toward him.

Daryl sat a few feet away, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely clasped. But there was the faintest smile on his lips, and that distant, softened look in his eyes - the one he wore when happy memories came knocking. Like maybe he was remembering it all, too. That night. That moment. Us, before we really were.

Maggie eventually joined her sister, harmonizing in the way only sisters can. Their voices twined together, rising and falling like wind through the trees. It was beautiful, peaceful, and raw in a way only music can be after everything we'd lived through.

Then Briar made a very loud announcement.

"Dancing time!" she yelled, shooting up from her throne of pillows and birthday debris. "Everyone has to dance! Even old people!"

There were some groans, a few laughs, and one or two people who pretended to faint. But most started obliging - Aaron twirled Eric dramatically in slow circles. Alden and Enid attempted a clumsy waltz, while Ezekiel bowed formally to Gracie like she was royalty. Even Merle took Annie's hand and executed a very dramatic, very sarcastic tango, complete with dipping her into a bush.

But Briar had her sights set on a very specific partner.

I watched her march across the yard, bare feet stomping in the dirt, her tin foil crown a little lopsided now. She came to a stop in front of Daryl with all the gravity of a queen issuing a command.

"Daddy," she said, eyes serious. "You have to be my dancing partner."

For half a second, he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Daryl Dixon, hardened survivor of the apocalypse, vanquisher of walkers, was absolutely terrified in that moment.

His mouth opened, probably to mumble something about not knowing how, but Briar didn't give him a chance. She held out her hand, the picture of stubborn innocence.

"Daddy and daughter dance," she said simply.

That did it.

With a heavy sigh and a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he stood up, towering over her like a giant in a fairy tale. The crowd quieted as she dragged him to the center of the yard, right in the middle of those already dancing.

Beth softened her strumming. Maggie looked intently at the pair for a moment, before leaning in to her sister and whispering something. Then, a new tune started, something slow, something sweet and swaying.

The sisters started singing together, their eyes soft as they watched Daryl and Briar.

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero I am strong and wise And I know no fear ♪

Daryl held out his hands awkwardly, clearly on edge. Briar took charge, stepping onto his boots with a grin and wrapping her little arms around his waist. He smirked warmly, then slid one hand to the back of her head as she pressed her cheek to his stomach, the other cradling her shoulders.

Just like that, they began to sway.

But the truth is plain to see She was sent to rescue me I see who I want to be In my daughter's eyes ♪

Everyone watched, even those still half-dancing around them couldn't tear their eyes away.

In my daughter's eyes Everyone is equal Darkness turns to light And the world is at peace ♪

Nobody laughed. Nobody teased.

We all just... watched.

This miracle God gave to me Gives me strength when I am weak I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes ♪

My heart caught in my throat.

Because in that moment, there wasn't a trace of the hardened hunter or the gruff warrior. No crossbow. No blood or sweat or fight in his eyes. Just a man - my beautiful, brave man - slow dancing in the firelight with the little girl who had him wrapped around her tiny little finger.

And when she wraps her hand around my finger How it puts a smile in my heart Everything becomes a little clearer I realize what life is all about ♪

She tilted her head, her chin pressed against his stomach as she gazed up at him, wide-eyed. He held her even closer, smiling properly now.

And something in me cracked wide open.

It's hanging on when your heart is had enough It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light It's in my daughter's eyes ♪

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn't blink them away. I let them fall.

In my daughter's eyes I can see the future A reflection of who I am and what will be And though she'll grow and someday leave Maybe raise a family ♪

Sawyer crawled into my lap, dirt smudged on his cheek, his hair stuck up like he'd been electrocuted. He leaned back against me with a soft yawn, thumb in his mouth. I held him close, my gaze never leaving the pair in front of me.

When I'm gone I hope you'll see How happy she made me For I'll be there In my daughter's eyes ♪

When the song ended, nobody clapped. It didn't feel right. Instead, people just smiled - quiet and reverent. Like we'd all been allowed to witness something sacred.

Daryl stooped and scooped Briar into his arms. She folded into his shoulder with all the trust in the world, her face buried against his neck.

As he reached me - and the now almost-asleep Sawyer - he looked at me, noticed my glassy eyes, and without saying a word, leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. He didn't need to ask what had caused my tears - he knew just as well as I did how precious that dance was.

His neck was flushed a little pink as he settled down beside us, his arms still wrapped around Briar protectively, like letting go might make the special moment they'd shared vanish too fast.

I reached out and gently swept a lock of hair from her brow, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary. She was already drifting, somewhere between dreams and the warmth of her daddy's arms.

"She gets it from you," I whispered.

Daryl blinked, then looked sideways at me, brow furrowed.

"That unshakable belief that people will do anything for her if she just stares them down hard enough."

He huffed a quiet breath, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. After a moment, his voice came low and raw, like gravel warmed by sun.

"Ain't nothin' I wouldn't do for her..." Then he looked over to Sawyer. "Or him."

My heart twisted in the most beautiful way, and I leaned into him, pressing my head against his shoulder.

"I know," I whispered.

A long pause stretched between us - filled only by the crackling of the fire, the gentle strumming of Beth's guitar, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of our babies.

Then Daryl spoke again, quieter this time, like he wasn't sure if he wanted me to hear it.

"Sometimes all this still don't feel real. You. Them. All of it."

I smiled, turning my head just enough to kiss the curve of his cheek. "Baby, if you don't believe it by now, I can't help you."

Before he could respond, Briar's voice floated up from the warm tangle of his vest. Muffled, tiny, and mumbled straight into his collarbone.

"Best party ever."

And just like that, she fell into sleep.

Daryl looked down at her, eyes crinkling. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her wild curls.

"Ya earned it, kid."

The rest of the little people started dropping like sleepy dominoes after that.

Judith and RJ fell asleep snuggled up together on our couch, completely tangled in a mountain of blankets. Hershel and Gracie curled up on our living room floor, cocooned in sleeping bags. Sawyer was snoring away on my knee, his cheeks sticky. DJ was out cold in his stroller, wrapped up like a very satisfied burrito.

Briar hadn't moved from Daryl's lap.

Wordlessly, Daryl and I rose and carried our two inside and up the stairs - Sawyer nuzzled against my chest, Briar cradled against his.

In their bedroom, we tucked them into their beds. I kissed Sawyer's forehead, smoothed the blanket over him, and whispered goodnight. Daryl knelt beside Briar's bed and gently brushed the hair back from her face, his thumb tracing her temple like a silent blessing.

I turned to tiptoe from the room, but Daryl's fingers curled around mine before I reached the door. He tugged me gently back toward him, pulling me into his arms with that familiar, unhurried gravity. He leaned down and kissed me - slow, purposeful, lips soft and warm against mine. His arms wrapped around my waist where they'd always belonged.

"She got her party," he rasped, forehead resting against mine. "Ya made it happen."

I chuckled, brushing my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I think you'll find she made most of it happen," I said. "Cute little dictator."

Daryl's mouth twitched.

"Ain't wrong."

I smiled against his lips, holding him close.

And for one breathless second, we didn't think about the past. Or the world outside. Or what tomorrow might bring.

We just stood there. Together.

With two sleeping kids, and a house and yard full of family.

~

We headed back outside after our quiet moment, hand-in-hand, ready to re-join the adults and enjoy the last sips of our mediocre wine offering.

Unbeknownst to us, other plans had been made.

"Alright," Merle announced as Daryl and I sat ourselves back down, swaggering into the firelight like he was stepping onto a stage. "Time to make this a real party."

The flames threw wild shadows across his face as he knelt by a battered box with all the drama of a magician unveiling his finale. He plunged a hand into the crate and pulled out a bottle filled with something dark, amber, and promising poor decisions.

"Whiskey," he declared.

A pause. He dove back in.

"Also whiskey." He produced a second bottle with a triumphant grin, eyebrows raised like he expected applause.

He got it.

Then, "Oh, so we're doing this?" Jesus said, already half-laughing. "Alright, I've got something, too."

He dug into his bag, and after a few moments of noisy rustling, he popped up with a bottle that sloshed like melted sugar and smelled like vanilla extract had made sweet love to gasoline.

Beth wrinkled her nose, pulled a mason jar, and gave it a shake. "Found this at Oceanside. It might be moonshine. Might also be paint thinner. Either way - cheers."

"I pre-empted this scenario," Eugene said from behind a crate, presenting a slim glass bottle with the care of a scientist unveiling a volatile compound. "I deduced the probability of communal intoxication was high, so I made adequate provisions."

"Yeah," Glenn snorted, reaching into Maggie's bag like a man hunting treasure. He pulled out an almost-full bottle of tequila and raised it with a grin. "So did we."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, and leant into my ear. "Reckon they planned this?"

I chuckled warmly. "Yep... Guess it's time for that silliness we talked about."

He gave a mischievous smirk. "Yeah... Guess it is."

The bottles passed hands faster than ammo on an old-school supply run. Everyone swigged with the recklessness of people who had lived too long under the shadow of death and decided, for one night, they were going to howl at the moon instead.

Rosita took a healthy gulp from Eugene's concoction and immediately gagged. "This tastes like feet."

"Correction," Eugene replied with academic pride, "functional feet. Possibly post-mortem. Still rich in glucose."

Beth was the first to start telling stories, leaning against the log bench like it was propping her up. "Remember the time Carl got caught stealing peanut butter from the rations at the prison?"

"I was craving it!" Carl hollered from the other side of the fire. "And you ate it anyway!"

"Only some of it." Beth grinned. "Athena ate the rest."

From there, it snowballed.

Eric, already pink-faced and hiccuping, leaned against Aaron. "Remember when we first arrived here, and you tried to test the pond water?"

Aaron groaned. "I fell straight in, but I kept my cool."

Eric burst into laughter. "You screamed, 'The fish are touching me!'"

Aaron looked deadly serious. "They were."

Maggie chimed in with, "Glenn once ate a grasshopper."

"It was a cricket!" Glenn corrected. "And it was on the road after the farm. We were starving."

"Yeah, but you didn't need to cry afterwards," she teased.

"I felt bad that its friends might be looking for it."

I chuckled to myself, remembering a time Daryl tried to convince me to eat a worm for protein.

From there, it turned into a competition for who could share the most ridiculous moment. Then, Carl and Jesus ended up arm-wrestling using their wrong hands because "the regular way is too mainstream." Ezekiel attempted to teach Agatha how to bow like royalty, only to lose his balance and crash backward into a crate of firewood with the majestic grace of a falling oak.

Tara started an unhinged round of charades. Glenn flailed his arms like a demon-chicken on fire. Michonne guessed Jaws. Enid almost fell off her crate laughing.

Siddiq, half-pickled, kept yelling, "That's not how a velociraptor moves!" when Maggie acted out Jurassic Park. Then he did his own impression, flappy arms and all - only to trip over the string lights and almost kill Eugene. Merle saved the battery box with the reflexes of a drunk ninja.

"A true hero," Gabriel toasted solemnly, raising his mystery drink.

Glenn's attempt to act out walker earned him a hard stare from Maggie. "That's literally just how you look when you wake up."

"I feel attacked," Glenn muttered.

Annie's answer for cheeseburger involved slapping her head and yelling, "I'm juicy!" over and over. No one guessed what she was, but most of us cried laughing.

Jesus and Enid started a hand-walking contest that ended with Enid flat on her back, and Jesus making it a solid ten feet before ending with a perfectly-executed forward roll.

"I am unnerved by how aroused I am," Eugene whispered to himself, watching on.

Only, he didn't whisper it.

He then hiccupped dramatically and stood, swaying like a drunk poet. "I propose," he said, one hand on his chest, "we engage in an ancient tradition of vulnerability and psychological warfare. Commonly referred to as... 'Truth or Dare.'"

"Oh no," Michonne muttered, already pinching the bridge of her nose.

And so it began.

Gabriel picked dare. He ended up slow-dancing wiith Siddiq while Glenn hummed Careless Whisper in the background. Siddiq dipped him like a damn prom queen. Gabriel smiled for a solid fifteen minutes afterward.

"Daryl," Carl said next, grinning like he'd just found a trapdoor in a candy store. "Truth or dare?"

Daryl squinted across the fire, eyes half-lidded. "Ain't playin'."

The group heckled until he finally grunted, "Fine, truth."

Carl pounced. "Do you own any clothes that aren't black, brown, or covered in blood?"

Daryl took a long sip from Beth's mystery jar, then shrugged.

"Tell them about the shirt you sometimes sleep in." I chimed in, grinning.

He huffed, eyes narrowing at me. "Okay, I got a green shirt. Next person."

"Tell them what it says," I insisted.

"Ath..." Daryl warned.

"You have to tell us the truth... or you get a forfeit." Carol teased.

Daryl groaned, then quietly. "DILF."

There was a beat of silence - then the group exploded with laughter.

Agatha blinked innocently. "What's that?"

Carl leaned into her, knowingly, "It means, 'Dad I'd Like to Fuck'."

Agatha looked horrified for a moment, then her eyes flitted to Daryl. "Oh. Yeah. That fits."

Hell yeah it does.

Daryl's face turned crimson. "S'only 'cause Ath gave it to me." He mumbled in defence.

"I did," I said proudly, lifting my glass like I was making a toast, "And it's accurate."

"Where did you even get that!?" Michonne asked, bemused but still giggling.

Before I could answer, Siddiq raised his hand gingerly. "I found it on a run not long after Briar was born. Knew Athena would see it as the perfect gift for the new daddy."

The group erupted into cackles again. Daryl brushed his lips against my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "Yur gonna pay for that," he warned before pressing a rough kiss to my cheek.

"I hope so," I breathed back. "DILF."

After a few more rounds, absolute, undiluted chaos began. It started with the great potato sack race.

Suddenly, Glenn, Tara, Beth, and Alden were inside the burlap bags, bouncing across the yard like deranged kangaroos on bath salts. The rest of us cheered them on like they were gladiators and this was the Roman Colosseum, minus the lions and plus a lot more tequila, but the race was doomed from the start.

Glenn got ambitious halfway through and tried to pull off some kind of mid-jump flourish, which ended in him tripping, flailing wildly, and taking out everyone else like a human bowling ball. The pile-up was majestic. Limbs flailed. Beth screamed. Tara laughed so hard she almost threw up. Alden hit the ground like a dying swan.

Eugene, clutching his drink like a Nobel Prize, leaned forward and asked solemnly, "Who emerged victorious?"

Glenn sat up with dirt in his mouth and leaves in his hair. "Gravity."

From the other side of the yard, Ezekiel raised both arms and bellowed, "The night is ours!" like he was summoning Thor himself. Then, with zero warning and a smile that screamed I've had far too much whiskey, he sprinted toward the firepit, clearly intending to leap over it in a blaze of theatrical glory.

He didn't reach it, luckily.

Michonne, sensing disaster with the instincts of a seasoned mom, caught him mid-air by the waistband of his pants. He yelped and fell backward like a pile of bricks. His makeshift cape fluttered tragically behind him.

"I was so close," he mumbled from the grass, staring at the stars.

"No, you weren't," Michonne muttered, shaking her head and sipping Tequila straight from the bottle.

Behind them, Annie was giving Merle a lecture on why he wasn't allowed to use a sleeping DJ as a "party mascot."

Jesus had started climbing trees. Plural. Not to fetch anything, not to escape danger. He'd just decided, in all his booze-fueled wisdom, that "tree parkour" was his destiny.

He made it to the top of a rather high one and spread his arms dramatically. "I am one with the branches!"

A squirrel did not approve.

It launched itself from the canopy like a fury-fueled missile and latched onto his shoulder.

Jesus let out a shriek of surprise that sounded part monk, part banshee, and promptly plummeted out of the tree and into a bush, where he lay twitching and whispering in tongues.

Eugene screamed, "Squirrel assassin!" and dove behind a bench like we were under siege.

And that's when Merle donned a bucket as a helmet. He clanked two sticks together and declared, "I demand jousts!" Alden obliged.

Carl drew fake tattoos on Gabriel with charcoal. One said "Sinner" and another was just an anatomically incorrect drawing of a horse.

Gabriel, staring at his arm, murmured, "Should I be concerned that I... like this?"

Meanwhile, Enid and Cyndie decided it was the perfect moment to showcase some questionable interpretive dance skills. It began as delicate and artistic, but then Cyndie screamed, "This one's about trauma!" and somersaulted into a shrub like she was exorcising a demon. Enid followed with something that looked like fighting invisible bees.

Jesus was still sprawled in the bush.

Then, Rosita climbed onto a table, thrust her hands in the air, and yelled, "Who wants to fight me!?"

Everyone, except Daryl, yelled "Me!" on instinct.

Though, thankfully, it never happened.

At some point, Merle tried to climb the roof, insisting, "It's my destiny!" only to be tackled mid-shingle by Annie, who was muttering, "Not again, not again, not again..."

Through it all, Daryl didn't move much. He sat by the fire, bottle in hand, face half-lit by flame, looking like the only adult in a yard full of drunk toddlers. But he was smiling like hell, and I loved seeing it.

He was buzzed - I could tell. Looser in his seat, lids heavy, and he didn't decline when anyone offered him more alcohol. At one point - while I was deep in debate with Maggie about whether it would be scarier to fight twenty pigeon-sized humans or one human-sized pigeon - he tipped his chin at me in beckoning, and when I wandered over - he pulled me straight into his lap like nobody else was around.

"Yur a damn problem," he muttered against my ear.

"Why?"

He sniffed my neck, smiling faintly. "'Cos ya look like that... 'n' I can't keep my eyes off ya."

I laughed, sinking into him, arms curled around his shoulders. "Is someone feeling a bit soppy in his drunken state?"

"Aint drunk," He lied. "Ain't soppy, neither... Just thinkin' 'bout what m'gon do to ya later."

Then he kissed me - warm, deep, and passionate, like we weren't in a fire-lit war zone of idiocy and squirrel attacks, like he had nowhere else to be. Like I was the whole damn world in that moment.

Jesus finally re-emerged, collapsing beside us, twigs in his hair. "I've just seen the face of God," he mumbled into the dirt.

"Was it the squirrel?" I asked.

"Could've been. I didn't expect God to have such a bushy tail."

Soon after, as it always does with booze and feelings, the mood shifted. Slowly, hilariously, tragically - into tears.

Michonne sniffled into her cup. "Judith's getting so grown up now... I remember when she used to call my katana my 'banana'."

Carl, without looking up: "Merle still does."

Merle's boot flew through the air and missed him by inches.

Cyndie leaned into Beth's shoulder and whispered seriously, "I would die for you."

"You almost did last week," Beth said nonchalantly.

"Oh yeah." Cyndie deadpanned.

Across the fire, Maggie was sobbing into Glenn's hoodie. "I miss you even when you're here."

Glenn stared at her. "That doesn't even make sense."

"I know," she wailed. "But I feel it!"

Carol and Ezekiel stood near the fire pit, hands wrapped around mugs of something strong, looking half amused and half haunted. Carol hadn't been herself since Henry... Neither had Ezekiel, according to Maggie, and I couldn't blame them. He wasn't their son by blood, but he was their son all the same.

Carol shivered. Ezekiel grabbed a blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

"I'll always bring you warmth," he proclaimed in his true dramatic fashion.

It almost seemed like it was going to be a moment between the two, until-

"Gag," Tara muttered, dramatically faking a vomit noise.

Then Glenn, because he clearly wanted to get punched, pulled a harmonica from nowhere.

"Anyone want something sad and inappropriate?"

"No!" the group shouted in unison, booing him into submission.

He played it anyway. Badly.

By the time Merle disappeared for a while, then showed back up in oven mitts and three scarves, the night had long since devolved into glorious, reckless nonsense.

He wasn't just wearing the oven mitts. He was brandishing them like royal gauntlets, perched atop an old squeaky bicycle that definitely belonged to one of Alexandria's kids. His scarves trailed behind him like heroic battle flags, flapping in the breeze as he wobbled in triumphant circles around the firepit.

"I'm the mother fuckin' Birthday Fairy!" he hollered nonsensically as if the fate of the world depended on our belief in him.

"No you're not!" Carl yelled, dead serious. "That's not even a thing!"

"I'm whatever Briar wants me to be, Carl! This is her day!"

"Briar's been asleep for hours!"

Merle pointed one oven-mitted hand like a wizard casting a spell. "Irrelevant! You just want my mitts!"

Meanwhile, I had what I thought - at the time - was an excellent idea.

"I'm gonna do a backflip again." I declared, standing unsteadily and pointing to the stars like gravity had just become optional.

Daryl didn't even look up. "Don't."

"For old time's sake."

"No."

"Like at Gabriel's church."

"Ath..."

Ignoring Daryl, plus apparently all reason, my level of intoxication, and the fact that I was still holding an almost-empty bottle of whiskey, I attempted the most dramatic drunken backflip of my life.

Spoiler: I did not backflip.

I backward-flopped straight into Daryl's lap, legs flailing, one boot flying off and knocking over an empty bottle nearby. He caught me effortlessly and let out a low grunt that sounded suspiciously like laughter being smothered.

"You're always there to catch me," I slurred, upside-down and proud.

He tilted his head, one hand still around my waist. "Even when ya do dumb shit."

"Especially then."

Somewhere behind us, Maggie was shrieking. "This feels like a betrayal to my spine!"

I turned just in time to see her attempting to twerk while Tara and Rosita instructed her on the best angles.

"You're doing amazing!" Tara cheered, doubled over with laughter.

"I am not!" Maggie yelped as her hips did something alarmingly mechanical.

Somewhere behind them, the newly formed "band" - an abomination comprised of Glenn's harmonica, Rosita's new kazoo (which no one would admit to bringing), and Eugene trying to beatbox - was attempting what sounded like Bohemian Rhapsody but felt more like a ritual to summon forest spirits. Off-key and deeply committed.

Daryl's breath was warm against my neck. "Goddamn," he murmured with lazy affection, like the scene unfolding in front of him was somehow both horrifying and beautiful.

"This is crazy," I choked, swiping away a tear from laughing too hard.

"Yep," he said again, voice low, arm still around me.

Then, from atop his firelit steed - aka the child's rusted bike - Merle wobbled into the spotlight again, making a theatrical stop and raising his glass high into the sky.

"A toast!" he roared.

Collective groans rolled through the group like a weather front. Someone muttered, "Oh, God." Jesus clapped a hand over his face. Eugene braced.

Merle ignored them all with the grace of a man too drunk to process rejection.

"To the kid who brought us all together today," he said, louder this time, and the crowd began to still. "Even if she's inside snorin' like a tractor right now... And to us - the ones who never thought they'd live long enough to throw a birthday party again."

There was a quiet moment - a rare one - as his voice dropped, and he turned toward us, gaze landing on me and Daryl like a spotlight had narrowed.

"'N' to my baby brother and his badass wife. For makin' a life like this... in a world like that."

His voice cracked a little. Not enough for him to admit it, but enough for us to hear it.

Daryl, still holding me in his lap, reached for his glass with his free hand, raised it toward Merle, and smiled, "Booyah."

"Booyah!" echoed around the fire like a battle cry of idiots and survivors and found family.

Bottles clinked. People whooped. Maggie attempted twerking again.

Later, as the fire burned low and the last embers glowed like sleepy fireflies, Daryl pulled me closer beneath the blanket we were now snuggled under.

His arm around my shoulders was solid and warm, his hand absentmindedly tracing slow, grounding circles against my upper arm. I leaned into him with a sigh, my cheek resting just below his collarbone, heart still buoyant from the night's absurdity.

Across the fire, Maggie was gently braiding Jesus' hair, her fingers methodical and delicate despite the fact that she was swaying slightly with exhaustion - or maybe booze. Jesus sat cross-legged and docile, humming under his breath like a monk at peace.

Beth strummed her guitar in steady rhythm, while Tara stood beside her balancing a ladle on her nose with the intense focus of an Olympic athlete. Siddiq was cheering her on in hushed tones, like he feared jinxing the ladle's delicate equilibrium.

Daryl kissed the top of my head, slow and tender, like he was marking the moment with more than words.

"I love ya," he murmured against my hair, voice rough with sleep and something softer,

"I love you more." I breathed back, smiling, as I watched our patchwork chaos of a family.

Our strange, resilient, ridiculous little tribe. The next generation safe and snoring inside, tucked into dreams we fought like hell to give them.

A/N: What did you think of Daryl and Briar's dance? It took me ages to choose the song! I settled on In My Daughter's Eyes by Martina McBride in the end.

So I know most of this chapter was bonkers, but I felt like our characters needed a break and to have some fun - plus, I remember how much lots of you loved the Holy Spirits chapter way back when. ❤️

Take it with a pinch of salt.

I can't actually believe it's ended up being the longest chapter so far at almost 7,500 words. 🤯

Hope you enjoyed it, because things are about to take a turn... ❤️

P.S. Please excuse errors. It's 5am here now because I just couldn't stop and my eyes have stopped working. 🤣